The Mirror Series: Some Guys Have All The Luck
by RZZMG
Summary: Harry's done the unthinkable: broken the Mirror of Erised. Bad luck seems to follow him everywhere after that. Thank Godric he's got Hermione on his side! Would it be pressing his luck, though, to tell her his true feelings for her at long last? Harry Potter x Hermione Granger/Harmony. Post-Hogwarts, EWE. Romantic comedy. 2015 HP-GetLucky Fest entry. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

 **This was my entry for the 2015 HP Get Lucky Fest (hp-getlucky . livejournal . com). This is a three-shot story. I'll post all the chapters up at once for you.**

 _PROMPT: #55 - A broken mirror brings seven years of bad luck. Will that luck change if the mirror is repaired? Characters: Harry x Hermione_

 **Thank you so much to my beta, D, for coming through for me! It was our first time working together, and I greatly appreciated all your input - you rock!**

 **Thank you to the Mod of the fest for allowing me to have fun in your world for the first time!**

 **Please review, if you would!**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and Warner Brothers. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

 **Timeline:** Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 **Main Characters:** Hermione Granger x Harry Potter

 **Summary:** Harry's done the unthinkable: broken the Mirror of Erised. Bad luck seems to follow him everywhere after that. Thank Godric he's got Hermione on his side! Would it be pressing his luck, though, to tell her his true feelings for her at long last?

 **Warnings:** PiningInLove!Harry (a little OOC), Explicit profanity, Nudity, Implied oral sex, Interrupted sex, Discussion of masturbation

 **Author's Notes:** Title of the story comes from Rod Stewart's song of the same.

* * *

 _ **SOME GUYS HAVE ALL THE LUCK**_

 _ **By: RZZMG**_

* * *

It is only Tuesday morning and already my day is off to a dreadful start.

Given that the last two years have been especially unlucky overall, however, that fact doesn't come as much of a surprise to me anymore.

Since the day I'd broken the Mirror of Erised by accident while out on a mission to retrieve a batch of stolen artefacts from Hogwarts (the mirror among them), Misfortune and I have walked hand-in-hand like a pair of stewed lovers. Every day, some new calamity befalls me—which makes my co-workers cackle with unholy glee on a regular basis, the rotten bastards—but I've finally gotten used to it by now.

Today's quandary starts off with a late quarterly budget report to the Minister. I've promised Kingsley I'd get it to him by this morning and have been up half the night and have come in early today to get it done. Now, thanks to a clumsy grab for my quill, all my hard work is ruined. As I stare at the tipped over ink pot and the spilled pool of liquid that crosses my desk, covers the report, and is currently streaming straight towards me, I'm resigned to the fact that events have just hit the 'bad' mark.

I force my dark thoughts to the side, concentrating on the positive, as my therapist advises: if this is the worst I have to deal with today, I can thankfully handle it. No one has ever died over a little spilled milk (or ink, in this case). Besides, I've had the forethought to plan for such an eventuality, expecting trouble: I made a Doubling charmed copy of the report, minus the last hour's additions and subtractions, which can be easily reproduced.

Take that, Misfortune, you bitch.

With a tiny sprig of hope blossoming in my chest that perhaps, _maybe_ I'll actually make it through this particular Tuesday relatively unscathed I dare to smile and reach for my wand to clean up the mess.

A knock at my office door arrests my hand and has me quickly checking the clock on the wall. Blast, is it half-past eleven already? I'd promised the Minister he'd have the budget report to him by ten!

Forgetting the ink spill, and that Magical Maintenance had just yesterday installed a new hanging light over my work area, I quickly climb to my feet, intending to grab the report in question and rush off to the Minister's office. Unfortunately, Misfortune rears her ugly, snaky head once more, and my bad luck holds true to the course that had been decided for it seven years prior. In the blink of an eye, the 'worst' part of my day has finally arrived…

As I jump to my feet, I promptly smack my head on the metal lamp hanging overhead, sending it swinging forwards. Even as I reach up to rub at the sore spot on my forehead, the bloody thing swung back my way for a second round, banging me in the same exact place hard enough to make me see stars.

"Ow!" I holler in pain and close my eyes, slapping a hand over the area, rubbing it.

Touching the spot, however, causes an arrow of sharp pain to shoot up my spine. My hips thrust forward in an uncontrolled jerking motion… putting my crotch right in the path of the leaked ink. A lovely red patch appears where I'd normally zip up, soaking into the fabric as if it were a sponge, thirsty for water.

"Shit!" I bellow, noting the red seeping into my favourite pair of distressed blue jeans—which distresses _me_ to no end.

One noteworthy thing about me: when upset, I automatically slip into 'Muggle mode' to handle a domestic crisis. It's a residual of the training I'd received under the Dursley's care. Forgetting for the moment that I'm a wizard and can easily use my wand to Vanish a mess, I start doing things the old-fashioned way, without magic. I pull my tee-shirt off to keep it from getting stained, unbutton my jeans, and grab for the box of facial tissues on my desk, blotting at the large, dyed spot on the front fabric of my jeans and on the bared skin underneath (I never wear boxers, finding them too confining given my size).

That benign stroking action, however, leads to another unforeseen consequence: my sensitive, much-neglected prick comes wide awake and decides to poke its puffy, little head up for a solid look around, seeking some action.

Now I'm horny on top of everything else.

Dazed by the rush of lust that runs through me, I still for a moment contemplating today's ridiculous situation—I'm shirtless, standing alone in my office with sopping red tissues in one hand, a cut over my forehead beginning to drip blood into my right eye, the front of my jeans covered in what looks like blood as well, and holding an erection so needy, it stretches straight up to cover my bellybutton. I'm sure I looked like a victim of attempted masturbation gone horribly wrong.

And, of course, my office door opens at just that moment.

"Oh, my Lord, Harry! I-I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean… I knocked! Er, I'll just be outside!"

The fluttering edge of a pretty summer dress and a pair of sunshine-tanned, gorgeous legs hurries back through the door as it shuts, and my heart lodges itself somewhere between my lungs and my tongue, making it both impossible to breathe or to speak, as there's instant recognition.

That voice, that face, those legs… Hermione has finally returned from her conference overseas!

—To find me bloodied, mostly naked, palming my aroused cock with a wad of red Kleenex.

Shit, but my luck just couldn't get any worse!

 **~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Talk about ironic… This isn't the first time Hermione has walked in on me with my hand on my prick.

When we were alone in the tent that year we were on the run and Ron had abandoned us, she'd come back in after a perimeter patrol to find me stroking it in my cot as a form of much-needed stress relief. That time, she'd been scandalized, too, rushing back out into the cold and not coming back in for another hour.

This time, I actually had a plausible excuse for whipping it out. I just needed to let the shock run its course first before attempting to explain it to my best friend, though.

‒You know, the girl I was in love with, but could never tell.

 **~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Cafeteria coffee has to be the worst, but especially when there's no sugar and you're left with only honey to sweeten it. I ran my tongue over my teeth and made a face after taking a sip. "Rubbish," I grumbled and pushed the cup aside, refusing to drink any more. I should have ordered tea, as Hermione had. Honey went well with tea.

It probably went well with Hermione, too. I bet she tasted as sweet as her tea…

"Really, Harry, it's alright," she said for the umpteenth time after yet another apology spilled from my mouth. "I understand, and it wasn't your fault. It's the mirror's curse acting up again."

"Yeah, I know."

After nearly two years of repeated near misses, small disasters, mid-sized calamities, and the occasional full-blown accident, I was ready to lock myself in a white, padded room for the next five years until the curse blew over. Since that fateful day I'd literally fallen into the Mirror of Erised and smashed it to bits, I've been struck by lightning twice, had a cauldron full of armadillo bile blow up in my face, came down with both the Mumps and the Measles in the same summer, was bitten by Malfoy's pet snake in a rather sensitive location, and caught a rare kind of lice from one of my owls who'd been a bit too friendly in the Owlery with foreign birds!

I seriously needed a holiday, somewhere preferably quiet and as far from danger as possible. Solitary confinement was looking better and better every day.

"So, why are you here?" I ask, resigned to my doomed fate.

My best friend leaned forward in her chair, excited as only an Unspeakable could be when they were discussing the magically bizarre. "I've found a way to cure you!"

I blinked and turned my head, not sure I'd heard correctly. "Come again?"

"I was reading through Brodwin's book on magical enchantments, and–"

I fall in love with her all over again as I listen and watch her face as she discusses her latest interest.

She goes on for ten minutes about the book, its overall contents, and how the publisher ought to change their format to make the reading follow a more logical progression of enchantments based on difficulty in casting. Finally, when she starts spouting off how brilliant Brodwin really is (she seems entirely too enamoured of a git who lived more than two-hundred years ago, in my opinion), I feel it's time to bring her back on track.

"So, how does the mirror fit into all this again?"

"I was getting there," she says, a bit huffy that I've cut short her long-winded praise. "According to Brodwin's research into ancient mirror magic, the reason you're experiencing what you would call 'bad luck' is because of your proximity to the Mirror of Erised when you broke it. The magical energies upon it were set free in the moment the glass shattered. That backlash of energy hit you full-on, since you were standing in front of it at that moment."

"Okay, with you so far."

"Good, because in order to understand what's specifically happened to you, I need to explain how any of it is possible in the first place. This is where it gets a bit tricky."

She rubs her hands together, really warming up for the challenge of tutoring me, and inwardly, I groan knowing I'm about to undergo one of Hermione's famous crash-courses in magical history. These used to put Ron right to sleep and cause my eyes to glaze over and my brain to go numb back in school. But I love the girl, so I have to at least attempt to follow along. She'd murder me for wasting her time otherwise.

"Right, so what we refer to as 'magic' is really nothing more than different types of energy found in nature that has been channelled through items like wands, or stored in items like special rings or even horcruxes, to perform a particular function for our needs," she jumps right in and already I can feel my head whirling, attempting to latch on to the theory. "For instance, when you want to fly or move something out of the way or summon something through the air to your hand, you're borrowing energy from the gravitational energy field surrounding the earth and refocusing it in a specific manner to achieve your goal. When you want to cast Lumos or create fire, you're borrowing from the radiant energy of the sun and moon and stars to create light and heat. When you're casting a glamour charm to cover up an unsightly mole or using Polyjuice Potion, you're borrowing from the person's own electromagnetic energy to transfigure flesh into something else. Etcetera. Hopefully, you've got the idea."

Well, yes, it seemed rather easy to follow so far. Maybe this wouldn't be one of her typical–

"–and because wizards and witches are born with a stronger electromagnetic field than Muggles and Squibs, they can actually grab hold of those natural energies all around them and use them to perform great feats that seem to defy the laws of nature. Incantations and ritual wand motions allow witches and wizards to perfect their control of those energies and to funnel them with precision—which is why wandless magic is so difficult to master. I really wish they'd teach this theory in school, because I think it would benefit–"

Alright, I was losing her to the compulsion to preach now. It was time to step in before we were totally off on a tangent and my entire lunch hour was gone.

"Focus, Hermione," I joke, snapping my fingers in front of her. "You're off topic. What does any of this have to do with my bad luck?"

No one else I've ever met has been able to top Hermione Granger's ability to make me feel like the world's biggest idiot with a single glance—and that includes my former Professors at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape. One glimpse from that half-shuttered, flat-eyed, admonishing gaze and I swallow hard and shut my mouth, feeling like I've been schooled, hard.

"Fine, I'll cut to the chase, since you're on the clock," she growls, and I know I'm in for it later. "Basically, the electromagnetic energy field that you generate, which allows you to manipulate the energies of the universe, was warped as a result of breaking the mirror and freeing the energy that had been stored up in it. Where before your electromagnetic field was positively charged, now it's _negatively_ charged. Therefore, when you come into direct contact with positively charged energies, you cancel each other out, but when you run head-on into something negatively charged..."

"...I amplify the negative energies all around, which causes disaster," I say, catching on. "Boom!"

See, I'm not a complete dolt.

She nods. "You also attract things that are negatively charged, like illnesses and parasitic vermin, and can accidentally Confundus yourself or others if the build-up of negatively charged particles in the air begins to affect the brain's functioning, like what happened to the Muggle doctors last year when you went into hospital for a tonsillectomy and ended up having your appendix out instead. In any case, that's the source of your supposed bad luck: your electromagnetic energy, also known as your 'magical aura', has been reversed."

I whistled in amazement. "Well, that certainly explains how the Weasley's car was able to seduce my broom away from me. Seems my negative energy chased her out." At Hermione's curious look, I explain, "They ran away together in April."

My companion's giggle is an unexpected, but welcome sound after receiving that death look from her earlier. Unable to help it, I join in, feeling my cheeks suffuse with blood as I move quickly from giggles into guffaws. God, I must be redder than a tomato!

"They actually broke the front window to zoom off into the sunset together! Like some kind of bad romance novel," I say around gasping breath and tears of mirth.

We turn a few heads in the crowded Ministry cafeteria with our raucous laughter, but I don't think either Hermione or I care that we're attracting attention just then, the vision of my broom and Ron's dad's car flying off for the great unknown together like some romance novel hero and heroine too ridiculous not to enjoy just then.

"So, how do I get my aura back to normal?" I ask once the laughter finally dies down, feeling somewhat hopeful about my future for the first time in two years. "There's got to be a way, right?"

"There is, but it will require some work on your part," she says. "It's a good thing you had the forethought to gather up all of the broken shards of the mirror and give them to me to study rather than chuck them in the bin, because as is the case for all magical mirrors that are broken, the accident tied your electromagnetic aura to the glass. In order to right them both, you'll have to cleanse the negative energy from the pieces of the mirror, which will cleanse your magical aura at the same time."

"Cleanse? As in, wash them in soap?" That sounds simple enough.

Hermione shakes her head. "Not in that sense, no. Basically, you have to dust the pieces you collected, and then blow the particles into a new piece of glass, that you will then have to wash in a south-flowing river. What that's done, you'll paint the back with silver, copper, and tin that you mine with your own hands and melt down into liquid form. When the mirror is ready, you then have to magically imbue it with White Magic to do something new—something never done before in the history of magic. Only then will the two of you be separated, and your positive energy flows returned."

"Something new? How in Hades am I supposed to come up with a spell that no one's ever thought before? Is that even possible?"

I suddenly feel all of my earlier optimism leaking away through my fingertips. The handle of my coffee cup cracks and comes off in my hand. I stare at it with a thoughtful frown.

Hermione reaches across the table and takes my other hand, sharing her warmth with me. "I'll help you, Harry. We'll do it together."

When she says such things, there's a part of me that wonders how it is I'm still lucky enough to have this woman in my life.

* * *

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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 **Author's Notes:**

 **Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

I stare at the pick in my hand and dread the idea of the physical labour to come.

"Why won't magic work again?"

Hermione crosses her arms and harrumphs. "Because the mining and smelting part has to be done by hand—your hand, specifically. Brodwin was exceedingly clear on that much. The mirror will know who crafted it and how much attention and emotion is put into that effort, the same as a wand does its maker. And using magic during this stage would only imbue the metal with your negative energies, which would nullify this entire process." Firmly, she shook her head. "No, Harry, the only magic you can use in this process is the spell you intend to cast on the mirror in the end to give it a new purpose."

I give a long-suffering sigh before hefting the thing over my shoulder and preparing for my first swing at the location where the silver ore is supposedly located, according to Hermione's tracking spell. "This sucks."

She grins at me. "Think of it this way: with the workout your muscles are going to get, you're definitely going to have a rather pleasing shape when all of this is through."

I glance over my shoulder and toss her a teasing smirk. "And would that impress you?"

Having turned the tables on her, her cheeks pink and she turns away, primly clearing her throat. "A fit physique is an indicator of good health, so of course I'd be happy for you."

"Happy, huh? Well, I suppose that's a good place to start."

I heft the pick and take the swing… and feel the connecting jolt all the way down my spine.

Merlin, this had better be worth it!

 **~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

The task of repairing the mirror has taken months in between my work schedule, and required me to learn a whole new set of skills. It's also worked out every muscle in my body to the point of pain. Who knew that mining, pulverizing, and preparing metal for smelting was such gruelling work? Who knew that shaping glass would require so much physical back and forth labour? And the heat of both processes is enough to sear the skin from one's bones in seconds, so absolute concentration is always required.

Still, I'm almost finished, and that accomplishment feels like a good shot of Firewhisky—the really expensive stuff that's been aged in the cask—on a cold night. It settles in my gut, warm and soothing.

Today, I'm in the garden at Grimmauld Place, putting a final coat of paint on the back of the mirror. Once it dries, I'll be able to take it to the Mirror of Erised's empty frame in the Department of Mysteries and reset it. Then it'll just be a matter of trying out the spell I've got in mind and praying it works.

Hermione has been with me through it all, at my side practically every day after work and on weekends. She's unable to help except with advice and cheerleading, as it must be me who fixes what I broke, as she's reminded me many a time, but still it's nice to have her support... and to have her so near me on a regular basis. She's usually so busy, running around trying to save the rest of the world (still) that I miss having her attention focussed on me.

She'd say I was spoiled. I'd say I was in love and desperate for any scrap she'd throw my way. Not out loud, mind you, but that's what I'd be thinking.

She's here now, settled down under the shade tree in the middle of the yard, reclining on a picnic blanket, her head supported by some sort of buckwheat pillow thing she's picked up over the internet, and is predictably reading. Her jean shorts are _really_ short, giving me a generous view of those scrumptious, golden legs of hers, and she's flung her sandals off and I can see her toe nails are painted purple. She's packed us a lunch in an old-fashioned basket, and is waiting for me to finish.

"Can I ask you something... er, personal?" I ask, hoping she won't shoot me down.

"Depends," she glibly answers with a sly smirk that sets my heart to thumping. She doesn't put her book down, of course.

I lick my lips to erase the dryness of them from the hot sun, and glance over at her, trying not to fixate on the fact that her floral tee dips low in the front, giving me a perfect cleavage shot. "Upon what?"

She glances over the top of her book at me. "Whether your personal question has to do with Ron or something else."

Ah, she's figured me out again. I go for broke. "Say it was about you and Ron, would you dodge it?"

Her mouth does this cute, little twisty thing and then her teeth appear to worry her bottom lip as she considers her answer, and I am dangerously close at that point to dropping the paintbrush and crawling over to her to give her something else to nibble on. We're still only friends, though, despite the obvious sexual tension that's been growing over the past few months. If I attempted something so foolish, especially given my current run of bad luck, I'd probably get slapped, then shouted at, and then slapped again. At best. At worst, I'd lose my other best friend.

It's best not to tempt fate… right?

"No, I wouldn't," she finally decides with a sigh.

I nod, reminding myself to be careful with her trust. It's just... I have to know this. I have to know if there's a snowball's chance that something could grow here, or if I need to extinguish the torch I've been carrying around for her for years.

"Good, because it is about you and Ron," I state, slathering another coat of paint on the mirror, then brushing it even, despite my slightly shaky hand. The excess drips onto the tarp below. "So, uh, say, for example, he'd decided today he wanted you back." I glance over at her again and swallow my nervousness, and decide that if I'm in for a Knut, I'm in for a Galleon, too. "Would you take him up on the offer? Would you… try again with him?"

Her dark eyes zero in on me, and I can feel the weight of that intelligent stare straight through to my heart. I'm suddenly, acutely aware that I'm naked from the waist up, covered in sweat and paint. My jeans are uncomfortably tight—have been since she first Floo'd in this morning and I caught sight of what she was wearing. My body is tense with coiled need and a desire for her that goes soul deep. I know she sees it all, despite her dis-advantageous position on the ground.

"You're asking if I'm still in love with him."

God, she's brilliant, seeing right through my question to the heart of it. I nod, my throat too tight to speak right then.

"I'll always love Ron," she says with a small smile, "but no, I wouldn't go back with him. I'm not in love with him anymore. That ended years ago." Her expression softens. "Are you still in love with Ginny? Would you go back to her if she asked you for a second chance?"

I shake my head. Ginny was my first lover, and I still adore her and we've kept our friendship to a degree, but her need to fly free and live wildly is totally out of sync of my need to live in peace and quiet, to settle down. She feels fettered, smothered by family, having grown up in a house overflowing with the concept, while I feel grounded by the very thought of it, never having had the support and love of those around me I can call my own.

She is a positive charge, flinging free of the world and melding with as many others as possible until she burns out, and I am more a neutron, seeking stability and the even measured march through time... much like Hermione.

"We're too different, and no, I don't love her like that anymore either."

"Oh."

She worries her bottom lip again, and the expression is sexy and almost daring. Now I do drop the paintbrush back into its bucket, and I place the bucket on the ground at my feet. I wipe the paint off onto my jeans, uncaring of the streaks of tan it leaves behind; my fingers fumbly and thick as I practically vibrate with growing lust.

As if attuned to my reaction, Hermione's eyes become hooded and her breathing slows. "You've changed over the last several years, Harry. You're so... different," she tells me in a soft, slightly anxious voice, her eyes roaming down my body and then back up.

Well, I have bulked up rather substantially as a result of all the physical labour from our project, but I think it's clear that's not entirely what she means. "Not so much, but I suppose a long run of bad luck will make you appreciate the good things in life. Like the people who have stuck around."

Like her.

When she and Ron broke things off, he'd clung to me at first, but when he realised I wasn't so keen on supporting him for his cheating ways and hurting Hermione as a result, he'd drifted towards others who were more sympathetic, like Seamus and Bill. When I'd taken up Robards' position as Head Auror and was desked, and Ron was reassigned as someone else's partner in the field, our friendship sort of went along the same split. We're still friendly towards each other, but not like we were. There's a gap that separates the men we are today from the boys we were back in our youth, and sometimes I miss Ron as he was, but I don't think we can ever get back what we had. I'm a bit resentful of him tossing Hermione aside as casually as he had, and he's resentful that I took her side in the split. There's really no crossing that gap.

And seriously, I think I got the better end of the deal, anyway. Hermione and I were both raised as Muggle-borns, despite our different magical lineages, and that commonality is something I've never shared with Ron or any of the Weasleys, who look on anything non-magical as a freakish oddity.

At Hogwarts and during the war, she was there for me every step of the way, even when I was behaving like a complete jerk, reminding me of my inner strengths and shoulders my weaknesses for me when I couldn't. _She_ hadn't been the one to run off when the going had gotten tough.

Then, later, when Ginny and I had finally broken up, Hermione had texted me that she'd be right over. Five minutes later, she was at my door with a selection of action-adventure movies, a bag of popcorn, and a bottle of top-shelf tequila—no condemning looks, no uncomfortable questions, just a shoulder to cry on.

The fact is Hermione Granger is the closest thing I have to real family. She's saved me more times than I can count, and she's sacrificed so much on my behalf, and she's never once complained or had a personal agenda. Her loyalty to me is unswerving and absolute, and I am the luckiest man alive for it.

And maybe I'm a crap friend for thinking it, but I don't regret that she's not with Ron anymore, and I'm fucking ecstatic that she wouldn't give it another go with him if offered the chance. I just hope that means what I think it means…

She opens her mouth and without hesitation says the one thing guaranteed to push me over the edge, securing my heart as hers for all time: "I'll always be with you, Harry, no matter what happens. I won't leave you. Don't you know that by now?"

She won't leave me. Everyone else has, but not her. Not Hermione. She'll be with me to the end.

Something in me snaps, breaking open, and I move on instinct. I cross over to her then drop before her on hands and knees, supplicating myself at her feet. My hands tremble and my heart pounds as I look up the length of her body from my position. I know I'm a wreck—I'm sweating from the sun's merciless attention, I'm dirty and covered in paint, and I'm a man cursed—but I'm determined to give her everything I am if she wants it.

She sets her book aside and waits.

The blanket is cool against my hands. The shaded spot is quiet and private, with the walls between me and my neighbours on either side standing strong at ten feet... a perfect place for making love to her if she'll allow it.

"I'll never leave you, either," I promise her.

Her smile is relieved. "Good."

* * *

 _ **TO BE CONCLUDED...**_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **One chapter left. Hope you're enjoying it. Please let me know, yeah?**


	3. Chapter 3-FINAL

**Author's Notes:**

 **Sexy fun, Draco humour, and an original spell in this last chapter, just for you! :)**

* * *

That's all the encouragement I need to move forward. I waste no time pulling my glasses from my face, setting them aside, and then crawl up her body, closing the gap between us to claim her mouth. She draws in a sharp breath as we at last meet.

The kiss is soft, scary, lingering—everything a first kiss should be.

When my head starts swimming, I pull back.

"Tell me to stop now, if you don't want this."

Rather than pushing me away, she instead pulls me towards her with a hand around my neck. "I want this, Harry. I've wanted this for months and months," she admits, her voice trembling ever so slightly, and I'm done for. "Maybe even for years and years, too."

I lean back in at the same time as she does, and we capture each other. How incredibly sweet she is! Like honey, just as I've imagined a thousand times.

The kiss quickly becomes impatient and passionate, mirroring our need for each other, and before I can register my actions, I have her on her back and our hands and mouths are all over each other. Gone is the gentleness, replaced with a ravenous hunger. God, she tastes like melted sugar from head to toe.

As I bare her inch by inch, I find her nipples are succulent, ripe berries, her vanilla-scented skin is soft like confectioner's powder, and between her legs she's all treacle syrup, dripping down my throat as I bring her to the edge and tip her over with my thrusting tongue and suckling mouth. She's sensitive, responsive, and sexy as fuck. My perfect goddess.

As I work my way back up her body to her mouth, I let her taste her own perfection. She groans and raises her hips to ride one of my thighs. At the same time, she reaches between us and unbuttons my jeans, reaching in. Her fingers brush over my straining, dripping wet erection.

"Oh!"

Her hand pulls slightly back from surprise, but then ducks back in for a second go. She stretches her long, elegant fingers around my cock, running her palm over the underside of it, feeling its size.

"Oooh," she purrs.

That reaction gives me pause. "But you've seen me already. Twice," I remind her, feeling my cheeks glowing from those memories. "Remember?"

Her slow, naughty smile does wicked things to me. "Only a quick glimpse, both times. Not enough to _know_." Her gaze dips down and the gold flecks in her eyes practically glow in the dappled sunlight filtering through the tree branches above us. She licks her lips.

A groan is torn from my throat as she takes her time stroking me, slathering my pre-release all over my shaft.

"I want this," she whispers her secret, and her gaze flicks up to me. "Can we?"

I nod and reach into my back pocket for my wallet, where I carry a spare Muggle condom, for emergencies… only to find my wallet's not there. I groan remembering that I've left it by my bedside table upstairs in the house, not thinking I'd need it.

My bad luck strikes again.

"Condoms are in the house," I tell her with a sigh. "I don't suppose you're on any potion or birth control?"

She shakes her head. "No need. I haven't dated anyone in a while."

"Let's go inside‒" I start to say, when Misfortune decides to once more kick me in the arse hard.

"Well, well, can't say I'm totally surprised."

Hermione and I both freeze in place, and from the wide-eyed expression on her face, I can see that she recognises that awful voice the same as I do. How could either of us forget it, having been on the receiving end of its taunting for years?

Quickly, I grab the edge of the blanket and toss it over my girl, spilling her lovely picnic basket all over the grass. I then tuck myself in and rebutton my jeans before turning around to face my one-time rival, now co-worker at the Ministry.

"How the hell did you get in here, Malfoy?"

Smirking, grey eyes glimmering with mischief, Draco looks between me and Hermione and practically crows with delight. "Your Floo was open, Potter. I did try to call, but you didn't answer. Now I know why." His smirk blooms into a full-on, shit-eating grin that's nearly blinding in its whiteness.

"Why are you here?" I growl, wanting the wanker to get to the point and get out. We may have to work together, and he's better than he was back in school, but he's still an unbelievable git most of the time and he gets on my pecs as no one else can.

Still, he is the best bloody prosecutor the Ministry's seen in a century. His conviction rate is a crazy success. I need him to assure the work my Aurors do don't end with some sleaze-bag back out on the streets continuing a life of crime, and he knows it.

He holds up his black attaché. "Your artefact thief's trial starts next week. I had some last minute questions while I prepare my opening statement."

Running a hand through my hair, I sigh. "Fine, just… give me ten minutes. I'll meet you in the living room."

"Sure, Potter." He's serpentine smug when he concedes. He's never going to let me live this one down. The man knows how to keep his mouth shut, though, so I'm not concerned about anyone's reputations getting put through the ringer. Still, I'll have to live with his ribbing forever now. Fucking great.

Glancing around me, he winks at Hermione. "It was great _seeing you_ , Granger."

"Shove it where it'll hurt, ferret," she snarls, and he laughs, turning on his heel and heading back into the darkened house.

I kneel down at her side, infinitely sorry that our moment has to be delayed. "I'm sorry. I forgot to shut the Floo when you came through this morning."

She's blushing red hot, but gives me a wry smile. "It's okay, Harry. You just have really rotten luck right now." She looks around me at the drying mirror. "We'd better get that thing fixed fast, though. You're starting to rub off on me."

A chuckle works its way up from my belly. "I certainly hope to keep rubbing on you."

Shyly, she sits up, clutching the blanket to her naked form. "Me, too," she shyly admits and places a tempting kiss on my lips. "Later, though."

I help her to her feet, assuring the blanket covers her, and then gather up our clothing. Before turning into the house, I take her hand and kiss the backs of her knuckles with all reverence. "Tomorrow, let's try fixing the mirror then. Maybe tomorrow night… we can celebrate."

She leans into me and I juggle the clothes to hold onto her. "I hope so." She sighs against my nipple, and the cool air against such a sensitive part gets me hard as a rock again.

"Me, too."

Because honestly, I don't think I can wait another twenty-four hours to have her.

 **~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

There's so much anxiety about moving the mirror between my place and the Ministry that I think I'm going to pop a gasket. It's Hermione who sits me down and calmly gives me a solution, of course: she will shrink the mirror until it's small enough to fit in my palm and will put around it a magical stasis field to protect it from shattering. I will then carry it all the way down to the Department of Mysteries, where the Mirror of Erised's frame has been stored, we'll reverse the Shrinking spell on it, mount it in the frame, and the rest will be history.

As we get ready to leave, my shitty luck puts in another appearance: the Floo starts acting wonky. It spits undigested Floo powder all of the living room, covering the carpets, the walls, the furniture, the baby grand piano I'd just had tuned… and me and Hermione.

Head to toe, we're coated with green, sparkly dust.

My first reaction is to cast an _Avada_ on myself, but Hermione's laughter is infectious, and before long, I'm gasping for breath and there are green tears streaming down my cheeks—both our cheeks, actually, as she's laughing as hard as I am.

Thank goodness magic makes cleaning so easy. With a wave of her wand, we're both spotless again.

"What say we take the underground?" I suggest.

"And hope there aren't any more delays," she agrees.

 **~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

We make it to the Ministry after one train delay of seven and a half minutes, dodging the flirtatious attentions of an elderly woman who chased me all the way up to street level, and an overturned rubbish bin blocking the way. All-in-all, not that bad a journey.

Here in the Department of Mysteries, in a room specifically designed to house artefacts yet to be catalogued by the Unspeakables, the Mirror of Erised's empty middle seems to be calling me to fix it. I can practically feel its desire to be whole once more.

Reversing the Shrinking spell on the tiny mirror in my hand goes fine, and Hermione and I both let out a relieved breath, as that was the part that most worried us; the stress of shrinking and unshrinking might have cracked the glass. We carefully move the resized mirror into position, adjusting the old-fashioned metal mounting clips on the back to lock the mirror into the frame.

"Now the spell," I mumble, concerned I'll cock it up thanks to my bad luck and that will be the end of it.

Hermione encourages me with a steady hand on my arm. "You can do this, Harry. You're powerful, but delicate enough to pull off this spell. Just believe in yourself."

Her faith in me makes me feel as if I can move mountains. I nod, close my eyes, and concentrate on the spell. I can feel its effect in my head and use my own feelings to augment its strength. When I'm ready, I place the tip of my wand against the mirror and murmur the new spell:

" _Revelio Veritas._ Reveal the truth."

The mirror wavers as the spell takes hold, and then the liquid surface solidifies, and all that reflects back is me and my wand. I feel a tingle of softness, like a gentle snow drifting over me, and I know in that moment my magical aura has been fixed. No more negatively-charged electromagnetic energy from me.

No more bad luck!

I then take a piece of paper out of my pocket, one I'd had a Latin transcription made of a phrase I want to replace the one at the top of the mirror's frame. Using my wand, I erase the archaic, dead language and replace it in English with my new wish for whomever looks into this mirror from now on:

" _ **In conspectus, et cognition veritas. WYSIWYG.**_ "

Hermione reads it aloud, struggling through the translation. "Seeing is smart truth?"

I put my arm around her and draw her in, reciting the phrase I'd memorized months ago, when I'd decided on the mirror's new purpose: "'In sight, truth and knowledge.' The two things Professor Dumbledore had told me once the Mirror of Erised could not give. Well, now it will."

I wave my hand at the glass and see my reflection mimic it.

"See, it's just a regular mirror now, so they'll be no disillusions or false hope from it ever again. We'll call it the Mirror of Veritas—the Mirror of Truth. With a name like that, everyone will think it's magical."

"It's a trick, just like that one time with Ron and the Felix Felicis. How brilliant, Harry!" Hermione says, sounding awed. "Oh, and WYSIWYG—what you see is what you get! You used a Muggle-ism as a fake incantation to further the belief the mirror's magical!" She turned in his arms and hugged him close. "You're quite the clever fellow, aren't you, Mister Potter?"

I can't help but smirk as arrogantly as a Malfoy. It's not often I impress Hermione Granger. "With this amazing physique I've managed to convince you to be mine, so I suppose I must be."

"Have you?" she teases, walking her fingers down my chest, heading towards a place guaranteed to get her on her back. Clearly, she knows it, too. "Are you sure about that?"

I don't care that standing guard at the door is Malfoy's best friend and Hermione's co-worker, Theodore Nott, watching us with his beady, little Unspeakable eyes, cataloguing everything we do and anxious to kick us out of his territory. I grab hold of Hermione and pull her hard into me, pressing my growing erection against her.

"Positive, Ms. Granger," I tell her in a low, sensual growl in her ear. "Let me show you."

I Apparate us out of the Department of Mysteries right under Nott's nose and take us to the Lobby, where I Floo Hermione and me back to Grimmauld Place.

This time, I lock the Floo behind us.

 _ **~FIN~**_

* * *

 **Author's Final Notes:**

 **Well, a fun little Harmony romp here. Hope you've enjoyed it. No sequel planned - I like it just as it is. Hope you did, too! Please leave me a review and let me know!**


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